


Achromatic

by misskatieleigh



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alien Rituals, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-24
Updated: 2008-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:31:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misskatieleigh/pseuds/misskatieleigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney sees John in a different light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Achromatic

**Author's Note:**

> I ran across a mention of John as a Geisha in someone’s journal (I can’t remember where now) and the idea kind of morphed into this. 
> 
>  
> 
> **This was written back in 2008, just moving things to AO3 from my LJ.**

  
Of all the rituals they’ve gone through, this should be one of the least threatening.

They’ve covered John in white, a robe that covers from shoulder to ankle and a thick paste that covers everything but the dark tilt of his eyebrows and the defiant spike of his hair. They’ve wet his hair down, a valiant attempt at quelling the riot of cowlicks, but it hasn’t stuck, random pieces drying in a halo around his head. It’s a comical look, truthfully, the man in black painted to a blank slate, but it makes him look vulnerable in the absence of color, the flicking shift of his eyes too vibrant without the offsetting palette.

It’s worse still, when he kneels down toward their priestess with arms bound at wrist and elbow with wide white cloth, the tips of his fingers peeking out pure white beyond the cuff of the robe’s sleeves. John’s head dips down, the line of his hair disappearing into the heavy white paint, but they’ve left a line clean, an inch wide of smooth skin that Rodney knows trails down his back underneath that innocuous cloth, the perfect line of spine exposed like a beacon of weakness. There is chanting after that, incense lit and the soft glow of ancient technology as John lights up their alter – the reason for the entire ritual after all.

Rodney watches, intent, fingernails digging half moons into his palms with the effort to keep away from all that white, to keep from touching John, from covering that vulnerability with shaking hands. A bell chimes and the priestess smiles, helping John to his feet with an outstretched hand as he wipes his face with the sleeve of the robe, tanned skin breaking through the paint. Rodney smiles, the spell broken, but John looks around too fast, catches him with the glitter of those eyes without the pale backdrop and suddenly he’s the one with his weakness laid bare, waiting for shaking hands to cover him.


End file.
